


A Relationship In Thirty Acts

by monsterthing



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Coma, Consensual Violence, Drabble, FrostIron - Freeform, Kinky, M/M, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Warning: Loki, bits and pieces, challenge, romantic bullshit and love and all that sort of shit, snippety writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterthing/pseuds/monsterthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[EDIT, 2013-03-03: CURRENTLY NOT BEING UPDATED.] Drabble-a-day challenge interpreted as thirty snippets of Tony and Loki's relationship: from formation to destruction and back again. There is nothing beautiful about their love; everything is beautiful about their love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ACCUSATION

**Author's Note:**

> Written using the [Drabble-A-Day](http://septembermorning.tumblr.com/post/35143360795/mentlegen-genimhaled-using-the-prompts) challenge prompts, though I will be shifting a few here and there as I see fit. This will be written, as the challenge states, once a day. And hopefully I can tie it into something coherent.
> 
> Warnings, characters and et cetera to be updated as I go along! Woohoo!

His fist hit the wall beside his lover's head. "Was this your doing?"

"As if -"

"Don't. Fucking. Lie."

Loki's lips drew together, faint scars still visible in the corners where they had refused to heal. Instead of answering, he grabbed Tony by the front of his shirt, hauling him into his own body. Their eyes locked, and Loki looked, searchingly. "Do you really think I could have done this? After - everything?" 

Tony wanted to punch the wall again. He wanted to believe Loki - he always wanted to believe Loki, even when he was dead certain the trickster god was lying. Foolish, the little voices in his head whispered. Foolish, everyone else whispered. 

"Did you orchestrate this attack?"

He had left Rogers pacing by the hospital bed, Natasha lying peacefully in the bed next to him. If not for the stained bandage around her head and the cast on her left arm, she would have looked peaceful. Asleep. For once, resting. 

"Tony." Loki dragged the name as if from the depths of torment, fiercely, angrily. "I could not lie to you if even all the gods commanded it of me. I am" - and his face crunched up, struggling with the words - "ever in your debt."

Sometimes, when Loki was curled against him, hand resting on his hip and black hair splayed out against his red, red sheets, Tony wondered if that was why the god stayed. Why he had chosen Tony, at all, as a lover. If it was not for the pleasure of his mind or body, but for the unending life debt now in his name. 

But it was true. The other man could no more lie to him than he could stop breathing.

Tony shuddered out a groan, relenting, and closed his eyes, resting their foreheads together. "She might not live."

Thin, chilled hands lifted to delicately push into the hair at the nape of his neck, and a soft ghost of a breath brushed across his cheek. "Then we shall avenge her." When Tony opened his eyes to look at him, the gaze reflected back at him was cold, and fierce. And honest. 

Tony smiled grimly back. "Yes. We will."


	2. RESTLESS

Thirteen minutes, and he was still pacing the room in finite circles, edgy, angry. He'd long since rolled his shirt-sleeves to his elbows, and his once-perfect hair was a rumpled mess of hand-pulling frustration. 

Loki sat himself up against the headboard of their bed, watching the other man carefully. He had been awoken to his lover in this state, and had no current clues as to the reason. It did not matter, though - for often did he find the man agitated, a lion caged by his own mind. He stayed up until the sun had long broken the seal of the earth, and then came to his lover a mess of tumbling thoughts. 

It was not that Loki did not want to understand. It was that Loki understood all too well, the constraints of family and father and honor. It was that every wound inflicted upon Tony was as a wound upon his own flesh, and the whirling plans and schemes that slid through the lines of his brain were echoed back upon his own. 

He had, unknowingly, unwittingly found his match in this man. 

Tony turned his eyes to his, and made a face. "I just can't stop thinking - what if we could harness the power and use it to reverse the current time-stream. I mean, with that much power, it would almost make sense to just -"

"Stark. Cease."

There came a guttural noise, followed by a laugh. "I know. I know, you've said a thousand times, but do you think - " and the look on his face made no further comment possible. 

"It is gone, Tony. And I shall not bring it back to this realm. If they can find it, they will use it. It is safer with Odin."

In another room, somewhere buried in the depths of the tower, hidden away from all but that had the codes and the knowledge of it, was a woman who once made men cower, sleeping. For a long time now, sleeping. Her bird-man was perched nearby, but it had been a long and trying winter, and she showed no signs of emerging from her hibernation. The lines on his face drew long and exhausted, and his bow hung limp in his hands. 

It looked to be an equally long and cold spring.


	3. BEGINNING

"You're bleeding."

"Yes."

Loki dropped to his knees - unmindful of their scarred and scratched nature. His skin, pale and wrecked, stretched taut over high cheekbones covered in the delicate yellow shade of weeks-old bruises. And from his lips, strands of thread hung shimmering and soaked in a red so vibrant as to be fake, recently pulled from unwilling, semi-healed skin. 

Tony had drawn back, against his workstation, unsure where to go from here. The small dagger in his hand hung limp, while his other hand tapped nervously on his chest. Questioning the god seemed incredibly useless, in this case - as he did not seem to be healing, nor even up to moving much past his current slumped state. 

"JARVIS. Call -"

"Please."

The same word as had been begged, visually, only a short while before. A worn man in ragged leather, appearing before him, holding an ornate ceremonial knife, hesitantly. There had been no demand in those eyes, nothing but exhausted helplessness. 

"Please. Give me... time." And the god winced, his fingers fluttering delicately against his face. "I will owe you much." And with no other words left to give, Loki collapsed completely to the floor, in a dead faint. 

With a sigh, Tony set the dagger on the workstation before kneeling, pulling the pale god into his arms, walking back towards his room. There would be much work to do, to seal the wounds and pull the threads from those broken lips, but he was never one to resist a genuine plea for help. 

Not after dust. Not after war. Not after a man lying dead in a cave, for him. 

"JARVIS? Delete all records of this. Permanently."

"Yes, sir."

Tony shifted the load in his arms, and sighed again.


	4. SNOWFLAKE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been commenting or checking back in! I'm particularly fond of this chapter. I blame listening to one of the beautiful Frostiron fanmixes that's been floating around - I don't know who made it, but it's _perfect_ , and my brain is flooded with the _feeeeeeels_. *grabby hands*

Sometimes Tony wanted to kill him. A lot of the time, really. An inordinate amount of the time, considering how much time they spent together. But other times... The stolen snippets of moments had somehow led into more and more hours, until there were days that went hazy with his lack of memorable events except - Loki. 

Like: 

The other man blazing blue and red, eyes flames against the white of the world. And he was laughing, a sound and sight rare enough that the depth of it weighed fragile on the mechanic's mind. His arms were outstretched, etched swirls and tattoos a ribbon of a language neither of them understood displayed, for the first time in a long time, for the whole world to see. 

It was just them. 

So rarely was Tony silent that when the moments came, they felt even more precious. This world, here in the middle of nowhere, was hushed, in the way that only a frozen landscape could be, the birds and beasts hidden for the winter. Tony had thrown some excuse at Pepper - make it stick, Pep, be a good girl now - and taken the broken man that was somehow living in his closet (he had given up questioning his life right about when he had saved the world from aliens) - and brought him to the north, where a cabin lay steaming and glowing bright in a pale world. 

At first, Loki had bared his teeth, an act Tony knew pained him greatly. A good show, then, of ferocity. "What is this, Stark, a power play? Take me to my homeland?" Dry rage bled from every word. "Rescue me, let me go in the wild like some - some wounded bird - "

"What are you talked about, Loki?"

That had given the god pause. "My brother did not tell you?" His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits, but his arms dropped slightly from their defensive stance.

Tony stroked his beard nervously, smoothing it down. It was not like Thor to keep secrets. "Uh, obviously. I just wanted to get you out of the house so maybe we could brainstorm. And here you are, turning into some sort of crazy cat put out in the snow. Claws, kitty. Keep 'em in." Tony huffed a bit, uncomfortable. He really did not like not knowing things. 

Loki smirked. "Tony Stark, at a loss. My, my. What a sight to see." He stepped further away from the warm cabin, into the fluttering brightness and glitter of the snow. "Was my brother ashamed, then, that he could not bear to tell it? My true nature? My parentage?" Loki turned, a fleeting glance over his shoulder, before his skin rippled and his eyes glowed. "I am not what I appear to be, little human."

And Tony could not breathe, as he watched the beautiful man become unearthly, both less than and more than human. The look on the other man's face was severe. Haunted. Hurt. "Here I am, Stark. Jotunn in a frosted land. Should I run off, now, like a good - what was it - kitty?" He sneered, a strangely familiar mouth on a strangely unfamiliar face curling into a look of disgust. "Leave me. I shall find my way alone." He turned, intending to walk away into the glowing distance, when Tony's hand caught his arm. 

Anthony Stark was many things. He was charismastic. He was daring. He was an asshole. More than anything, though, he was not his father's son, and he knew the sting, the festering pain of being something more than anyone could have predicted or planned for. Genius had separated him from the world; he refused to bow to the struggle and damage of that. His hand tightened on Loki's arm. "Thor should have told us. This explains a lot."

The god's eyes were still shuttered. "Would you have wanted to hear it? I am, and always will be, the destroyer."

Tony snorted. "Maybe. If that's what you want to call yourself. I mean, I tore down just as many buildings as you while I was drunk, one day" He took a deep breath. "I'm not saying I'm excusing your behavior - you're kind of a dick, Reindeer Games - but I'm just saying. I get it. I kind of get why you'd do it."

Loki's look was skeptical, but he turned back completely to face the other man, who was looking over this taller, stranger form critically. 

"Can you even feel the cold? You lucky ass. It's freezing! I'm probably dying of frostbite right now!" Tony stamped his feet and shivered dramatically, eyes widening to pathetic proportions. "Is it my turn to be the damsel in distress?" 

And that was when the former prince of Asgard started laughing, his head thrown back, revealing the delicate lines of his collarbone and his finely boned jaw, and brilliant, flashing teeth. "You are a strange one, Stark."

Relief flooded his system, though he did not know why. He did not find himself questioning it too deeply. It was there, though, married in equal parts to a simmering fury at Nick. SHIELD had known. SHIELD had to have known. And to have kept it from him - and for him not to have to discovered it - well. He would not make that same mistake again. 

The ice prince pulled away; not rudely, as he might have only a few moments before, but gently, and stepped back again, into the snow and ice and the beautiful white landscape, so that he could stretch his arms out to catch the falling snow, the fat flakes landing on the contrasting flesh. "No, Stark," he said, fascinated. "It is not cold at all." He flashed a grin, huge and relieved and just this side of intimate. 

Tony felt his chest start to ache and knew that this would be one of those painfully crystalline memories, branded into his mind. This, and the sight of Loki catching snow in his hands, perhaps for the first time taking a second to appreciate his true form, red eyes crinkled at the corners. With happiness. 

The ache crept up to his throat, and seized his voice, and he watched, quiet and wondering.


	5. HAZE

Her form a blur in the mist, Natasha leapt ahead of the team, elegantly leap-frogging from one pipe to the next, until she disappeared entirely. Clint soon joined her, scaling the half-frozen industrial works. Steve was hovering behind Tony, the two of them scanning in the dark for the threat they had been called to fight, but had yet to witness in any form.

"Is it just me, or does this suck? I mean, all we know is there're some bad people in here. What kind? Who knows!" Tony was taking this moment to gripe over the intercom, his clouded vision making him more irritable than usual. "Generic bad people, at that! Kidnapped school-children and everything. Could they be more typical?"

Steven sent him a quelling look. "Would you repulsors have any affect on the fog?"

"I'm supposed to laser the fog to death? That's not exactly how this works. I don't even know what's causing it!"

If Steve had it in him to glare, he would be glaring. Mostly, he just sighed a bit and kept up with the sideways walk that he developed when he was trying to scan down an area, glittering shield help up in front of himself. Once again, Tony wondered how he didn't freeze in that thinly-coated spandex suit - for as much as he ached to get his hands on his teammates clothing, they refused to allow him to play with them. Clint had specifically muttered something about not wanting to explode in mid-jump, which Tony had taken great offense to. His things never exploded when they weren't supposed to. Well, mostly. 

It wasn't that he wasn't paying attention. It was just that he didn't want to be here. Because not-here had a sleepy, half-naked prince in his bed who promised dirty, dirty things if Tony came back before the sun rose entirely. 

"Did you hear that?"

No. "Yes. Can you tell which direction it came from? JARVIS, any indicator?"

"Sir, it appears that Miss Romanoff is engaged in a fight with two unknown figures."

"Heat signature?"

As much as JARVIS could, he hesitated. "Not human, sir. I believe their makeup to be similar to that of the Chitauri you engaged last year."

Tony could feel Steve's gaze on him, despite trying fiercely to ignore him. It was not, unfortunately, quite as easy to dismiss the tiny unfurling of doubt and worry that bled into his stomach. "It wasn't him," he said, as firmly as he could muster. "I swear, it wasn't."

Natasha screamed, and Steve had no more time to glare, as worry turned to dread and they both took off in the direction of her echoing struggle.


	6. FLAME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm. This is where it gets kinky, and I've just upped the rating. I don't believe there are any triggers, since it's all consensual... sort of. Consensual non-con? Asphyxophilia, sadism, that sort of thing. But, you know. Violent, kinky sex, mmkay? Mmkay.

"Breathe, little human. For all your strength, you are still mortal."

And Tony remembered to suck in air, hard, through his nose, and Loki grinned against his throat, loosening his grip, easing back. "I'm not. You know. Mortal." His eyes were black with desire, fluttering and staring sightlessly at the ceiling, where a fan rotated lazily. 

Amused, the god nosed his lover's jaw. "No?"

"No -" breathless still - "no, I'm not. I'm a superhero, you know."

Loki's grip tightened again, teasingly, and the breathing came shorter. "Oh, my savior. Such insolence. Shall I punish you?" 

Oh, and, oh, and - panting as an answer. Loki took it as a silent affirmative, and sat back, lean thighs against his lover's. He rubbed a thumb slowly over Tony's chest, circling the arc reactor. The skin refused to relax against the invading metal, and still puckered slightly, a wound ever-itching and aching across his chest. Done in haste, it would remind him forever of the pain of having been helpless at the hand's of others. 

Loki tapped it thoughtfully, before flicking his fingers at Tony. Fabric slid up and around his eyes, causing the smaller man to smirk. "You know, you don't disappear when I can't see you? I can still tell you're there."

"Am I?" The circling thumb became more absent, as Loki lowered himself down, butterflying kisses across splayed thighs. Tony's erection was still thick and beautiful against his muscled stomach, proudly determined, from the playful teasing just moments before. It twitched a little as Loki's tongue found the base, kitten-licks making a strange pattern on the sensitive skin. 

"Fuck. You always do that. Why do you do that? You know I can't - " and here Loki shifted his hand, and in one smooth motion pulled out the arc reactor from its allotted space in Tony's chest - "fuck! Loki! Don't! -" but the god's tongue was busy lapping and bathing, and then his mouth made talented swipes, deep and hungry, around his lover's cock. Dropping the piece of hardware to the bedsheets, his hand pushed hard on Tony's chest, holding him still with a strength unmatched by the mere mortal beneath him.

Tony was writhing and panting underneath Loki's hands, fear and lust making his body thrum anxiously. "Loki," he said, over and over and over, gasped out as panic overtook him and it became harder and harder to breathe. "Put it back put it back put it back," he begged, hands fisting in Loki's hair, struggling to drag the other man away from his cock. 

Loki hummed soothingly and increased his efforts, before he lifted and, in one elegant movement, straddled his lover's thighs again, fist working furiously at his lover's erection. "Say it. Say it and mean it."

"I'm sorry, Loki, I'm sorry, please -"

"No!" The palm against Tony's torso clutched, dragging red claw lines across a panting chest. Tony's entire body had broken out in sweat, straining and writhing, as Loki pushed it in the opposite directions of sensory overload. "Not that." He spat into his hand and began stroking firmer, and Tony let out a keening wail. "Say it!"

Tony bucked furiously, shoving his hard-on desperately into his lover's hands. "I love you! I love you! Please!" Loki's mouth descended on his as his body stiffened, and a low, stumbling moan fell from his mouth, and white semen drenched the both of their stomachs, a slick wet reminder of everything between them.

Carefully, as Tony's body still twitched and shivered, Loki used his clean hand to reach inside his lover's chest and attach the necessary bits and pieces, firmly shoving the metal that kept him alive back into place. Only when he was all in one piece again did Loki reach up and remove the blindfold, and then Tony, finally, collapsed completely into the bed, all the strength falling out of him and leaving him a crumpled mess on the bedsheets. He was trembling. His lips were practically shaking with repressed panic. But his eyes were absolutely wild with desire, tears at the corners. He stared up at Loki, so far beyond thought that his mind had actually, for once, quieted. Loki flicked his hands, and they were both clean of the necessity and grime of sex, before running long fingers along the smaller man's face, carefully. He leaned their foreheads together, brushing kisses across his lips. 

"Yes. You are mine. I love you, too."

Tony's laugh was shaky, but his arms finally came up and wrapped back around his lover. "I fucking hate you, Frosty." A deep breath, and then another, and another, as if he feared they would never come so easily again. "You fucking dick. You will be the death of me." 

Loki pressed his face into Tony's shoulder, a pale smile on his face. "Probably."

The fan above spun slowly on, ignorant of the room's ongoings, uncaring of the struggle, and of the resultant delicate and sweet kisses that now rained soft across one another's faces, as one heart thudded too fast for a human's, and another struggled to calm under the metal that kept it from complete self-destruction.


	7. FORMAL

The days after she fell spanned long and slow. Once Tony had stopped circling the Tower, once Steve stopped blaming him with silent reproach and less-silent, intense questions about his lover, it all went quiet again. There was a woman dying in the worst way possible, and for a group of people built to act, the terrible burden of her future lay heavy on their weighted shoulders. 

So Tony drank. Tony drank, and drank, and drank, and every night, coming up from the labs, Loki found his lover buried in bottles and depression. And each time, he would heave him up into his arms, haul him to their bed, and lie next to him, staring at the dim blue glow that cast his face cold and still. 

The doubt had wormed its way up into Tony's eyes, and guilt was soon on its tail, gnawing a path into every restrained gesture the two of them gave each other. 

Daylight found Loki burying himself in his science. He became a ghost in his own laboratory, haunting the test tubes that shivered with magic and chemicals. He had expected this day to come; had known all along he deserved it. He had not, however, expected the violent hurt that it caused in him. The seizing pain that stung his eyes and gnawed his lips to bits. He was everyone's villain and no one's hero, and his only champion was slowly withdrawing into doubtful silence. 

His lover drank, and Loki solved equations, and sat staring at the windows, as the last of the winter rain pelted the wall-to-wall glass. He found it morbid and beautiful, the sound of it hushing all the various tumbling thoughts.

Tony stood in the doorway, watching Loki in a long moment. It was these memories he stored away deep in his heart, knowing that these things were pieces of his lover that he could never own. He regretted his involvement in disrupting them. "Natasha is being moved offsite. We're taking her to a specialist in California."

Loki did not turn away from the window, but nodded. "Good. If the good doctor is no use, then best to find someone who can be." 

"Loki..." His lover did not turn. "I'm going to go with her. We're going to keep her at my house in Malibu. I'm going to stay."

"How long?"

"As long... as it takes." Death or life. Life or death. Whatever the answer was, it would be made of finality. 

Loki schooled his gaze outside, fiercely. "You leave soon?"

Tony shuffled a bit, fingers coming to rest against his arc reactor. "In ten minutes. We're going in my private jet."

The prince of Asgard nodded his assent. "Fly safe, little human. I shall see you when you return." Loki did not rise to his lover, and Tony, after one last minute's hesitation, nodded and turned from the doorway.

It kept raining, and raining, and raining, and after a few hours time, Loki finally realized the fluid had boiled away long ago, leaving nothing but a heated glass and the evaporated steam of another few lost hours.


	8. COMPANION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so enjoying this. :D

Her name was Sarah. She had no last name; none of Tony's women did. They had faces and asses and smiles and tits - god, did they have tits - but names and sweet-nothings and morning-afters were left to those who managed to cling to his life with the tips of their fingers. 

Pepper had faded like so many hangovers, nasty and resolved only by more and more alcohol. Because there would always be another Sarah. Another Tanya. Another Jane. Falling into line and into bed, they bat their eyelashes and didn't ask about tomorrow. Peppers tomorrows were spent with another, and they were both happier for it. 

Because, of course, he was Tony Stark. Playboy extraordinaire.

He tossed back another shot and watched Sarah writhe on the pole. Her lashes were long, fake, and delicate, and the eyes underneath them shone like barren pools. But her smile was quirked in a way that Tony found irresistible, and she seemed to be equally fond of the quantity of bills he was tossing at her feet. 

Rhodey watched her expressionlessly, nursing his own tepid beer. "What's with all the brunettes lately?"

Tony smirked. "Afraid I'll move in on you soon? Sorry, you're not my type. Too much, oh... what is it? Ah. Penis." He gave a bright grin to the waitress as she passed, and didn't hide the unabashed leer at her ass as she shimmied a bit more. Her glorious cheeks positively burst at the seams, in that tiny silver piece, and he was rather curious about how much he'd have to throw down to have both of them in his bed tonight. Not, he suspected, that much more.

Rhodey quirked an eyebrow at him. "No, seriously. Haven't you noticed?" Which meant he had. A lot. And had been thinking about it. Too much. 

Because absolutely not. In no way had he noticed. He had not paid one whit of attention to the obscene amount of dark-haired women that had moaned his name in his bed lately. For the last, oh, two months, actually. 

He also hadn't noticed his recent predilection for girls that liked a bit of pain. Or girls that were into pegging, grabbing his hair and hissing nasty things about how he belonged to them. Or girls that covered his eyes with their thin, artistic hands and fucked him like whores (and most of them, really, he swore, were not). 

Or the almost anemic man living like a ghost in the spare bedroom next door, who had to listen to the grunts and moans and gave him wan smiles in the morning, but never said a word more, and for some reason that peacefully accepting silence got him harder and hornier than any of the pale impressions he had been fucking senseless for weeks now. 

Sarah noticed his attention waning and gave up playing hard to catch. She slithered off the stage, eliciting disappointed noises from the other crowd members, and crawled into Tony's lap, bright green eyes lustful and alert. She tossed her hair back, and started grinding herself into him, whispering dirty things that would absolutely come true later, if he kept spending money like this. 

In so many awful ways, he was incredibly disappointed in the soft curves that enveloped him. 

No, he had not noticed. Not at all.


	9. MOVE

But then there were the quiet moments. Before the fighting began, and after infatuation had settled thick in their bones. Between Steve's hard looks and distrusting grunts and Clint's violent reactions. Behind the doors, between all of these things, there were the two of them, and Tony's mouth brushing slow and sweet down the lean lines of Loki's body. 

"One, two, three," he counted each scar as he traversed the body, "sixteen, seventeen - aren't you supposed to be above all this human shit?" and his tongue made tiny healing strokes over past injuries. 

"I keep them to remind myself of the things that I have done. And have been done to me." And Tony merely grimaced and kept trying to heal them with the little things that he could give. 

Loki shifted under him, quicksilver, hair black as sin and eyes bright with every bad idea Tony had ever dismissed. He found them all wrapped up in this man, and it horrified him, sometimes, in the moments when he really allowed himself to pull away from the moment, that he had fallen so hopelessly in love with someone who had the years and misery and love and pain of thousands of years of existence. As old as he felt, he was but a child to this man.

So he fucked him, to silence him, to close those eyes so they did not see inside of him, could not see the flaws that everyone else did. 

The prince shivered and arched, muscles stretched against long bones against Tony's stomach against a bed - until Tony was consumed with the desire to devour him, to tear him apart with nails and teeth until he had taken every beautiful thing that was his lover and stored it somewhere safe within himself. 

Loki's hands came up to clasp Tony's jaw, and they locked eyes. "Where have you gone, Stark? Are you inside yourself?" A ghost of a smile. "I thought it was I that was on the bottom, tonight." It was the words. It was something in the ghosts that lingered behind everything Loki said. The memories of past conversations and loves and wounds, echoed in the years-ancient voice that said such pretty, pretty things. The sadness must have lingered, because Loki's face twisted to concern. "Come back to me, my love. Wherever you are. Come into me."

And he rocked his body up, holding Tony, holding his face and his eyes, and shifted and rolled his hips, lithe form coming up to wrap and hold his lover steady. "Come back to me, Stark."


End file.
